Rachell, Lynne

Lynne Rachell

The Unknowing

It was the unknowing
That ruined us
Ruined us like ancient villages
Bulldozed by forces that would not
Find our presence precious,
Did not find the echo
Of our giggles amusing
nor of interest, worth saving,
Pillaged our memories
Incinerating them one by one:
Sunday dresses, jump rope
Red light, green light
Barefoot on concrete
Races, the rubble
Caused our feet to bleed
Rusted shells and shrapnel
mixed with brown and white
Barbie heads, staring grotesquely
Killed our insides
The questions are many-
What happened to them?
Where are their clothes?
What became of their bodies?
Where is the harvest of the seeds
Once planted here?
What is this gaping hole?
And finally—what energy generated
This grand canyon of loss?
One bystander asks
No one can answer in confidence
Except me and I dare not say,
Leery of giving it a name
It is juju, best left uncalled
Much safer that way
I have learned silence
Silence is it’s lullaby
The others are held hostage
In a cold, dark room
Images flashing brightly
Through brain wash
Trying to remember
They never do.

Last 15

There are some things
For which you have no desire
to write home to momma
To try and tell her
again,
what happened
to explain
Between tears and
what did you say
and failed attempts to just breathe
Hers, not yours
To clarify
That here, the streets
Of summer vacations
with Aunties and grandmas
Are not paved in good times or gold
instead, are stained a deathly red
Foul, draining
From him
where his hands were up, still
She keeps asking after
His last 15 minutes
Inquiring after my whereabouts
questioning in silence
how I laid not next to him
yet wondering aloud
How he came to be
There. On the street
In daylight
When the vampires
Showed up to drain
His life's blood
How did they
Move so swiftly
Without cover of night
She demands and
asks once or twice more-
what did he say?
I don’t know the answer
not sure it matters
his last words
Our collective silence
Across wires speak volumes
reminds us of
golden days
When we marched
down streets with purpose
And not
down the middle with none
Where an opaque, angry hose
was far less deadly
Than the lifeless iron pumping
Vicious shots that
Do more than sting, burn
fling us violently--backward
They also pierce
And knock us off feet
His feet bring us back
they are there,
awkward, limp
like bronzed baby shoes
That once swung
in the breeze
below rearview mirrors
hers.
we both are looking
Behind us
And wondering
how in the midst of the
fame and notoriety
he is receiving now
Amidst the chanting of his name
the signs, the looting,
and cocktails
The pictures on the news at 6, 11
And again at 5pm and am
On the web
Amongst the monks
and missiles
and the Palestines
We can't forget the Palestines...
Kneeling in pools
Leaked from their own brethren
But holding signs
That relate in solidarity
across time
and war zones
We wonder
How can we rewind
to his last 15 minutes
And plead alongside
the souls of all those
who fell similarly
before him
with everything in us-
Don’t go out there
and especially--don't run
for even your hands up
Won’t save you
no, not at all
especially
today

Lynne Rachell's profile

Trickle

This trickle of water
That spills from my eyes
Are not tears
They are not tears
And they are not for you
They are not for you
Because you
don't deserve them
They are not a treat
Or dessert
And you did not earn them
By cleaning your plate
Your salivating
Over each, fallen drop
Affords you no seat
At this table
This water
Is not for you
And you may not
Drink of it
It will not quench
Your thirst
In these drops
You will drown
Even if they
puddle only enough
to cover your ankles
You can not stand
Or merely rise
Above them
They are a monsoon
A torrential downpour
And you are merely
In the wrong place
At an inopportune time
Unable to escape
That which was not
Meant for
But impacts you anyway
Take your last breath
try not to overwhelm
Your lungs with my spillage
As i gasp and heave
And purge
And try
not to choke on
These droplets which
Are not
now falling
Expeditiously
For you

Hello Trouble

Hello there trouble
By the time of your arrival
You may already find me
fragile
Cracked, like an old clay pot
Filled with water
Crumbling slowly
with every new drop
veins of wear
And tear
splitting my interior
I am still pretty
On the outside
So, you must forgive me
If at the sight of you
I run and jump in a lake
Man-made
Stocked with piranha
For occasions such as this
They do the catching here
More than willing
To have me
As their last meal
But they shall surely die
After even one bite
As I am poisoned
By all those who said
they meant me no harm
just before they pushed
me.
My pleas do not matter
Nor do my many creases
Or my tears
which drip from my eyes
Like weighted gold hearts
Stop-motion trickles
Of hot bitterness
All unseen, heard,
Noticed, like that
lonely tree in the forest
And though he… she…
Trouble…
arrived at my wreckage
a lookie-lou with a grin
to see its works
upon seeing my face
Frozen, and grimacing
In response
Beneath a murky pool
Of matter, that did
And did not
It- Did not tarry long
But moved on
To yet another
Fragile something

Unfit